


The Flannel

by there_must_be_a_lock



Series: Trio of Inexcusable Fluff [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon What Canon, F/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_must_be_a_lock/pseuds/there_must_be_a_lock
Summary: Set a few years before The Contest.





	The Flannel

You snuck a twitchy glance in the direction of the door, for the thousandth time that night. 

 

“They’re fine,” Cas said kindly. 

 

“I know,” you muttered, fidgeting with the label of your beer bottle and trying to hide how anxious you felt. 

 

“They aren’t even supposed to be back until tomorrow,” Cas reminded you. 

 

“They usually check in, though.” 

 

“They’re in the middle of nowhere, I’m sure they just don’t have service.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

And you did know. You were being totally illogical, but when it came to Dean Winchester, you’d always had a hard time listening to logic. 

 

“I’m going to bed,” Cas said. He gave you a sympathetic smile. “Don’t stay up too late? Worrying won’t bring him back any sooner.” 

 

“You mean them?” 

 

“Whatever you want to tell yourself. Goodnight.” You scowled when Cas kissed the top of your head as he passed. 

 

It was always like this, but somehow you’d never gotten used to it. Every time Dean had to go somewhere without you, every time you watched him pack, you could feel your heart in your throat. You couldn’t help but wonder if this time might be the last time. Maybe you should just sack up and tell him how you felt, before it was too late. Maybe Dean wouldn’t come back. Maybe you’d never get the chance. 

 

Maybe you were just a total coward when it came to him. 

 

You nursed another beer for almost an hour, picking at the label and staring at the clock, but there was no sign of them. No text, no voicemail, no nothing, just you and the quiet bunker and the knot of worry compressing your lungs. Finally, you gave up. They’d be back soon. They had to be. 

 

Cas’s resounding snores were audible through his door. You walked quickly past it and slipped into Dean’s room, inhaling, already breathing easier. This always helped. You’d never admit it, not in a million years, but it always helped. It wasn’t like he ever noticed; you were sneaky about slipping the shirts back into his laundry basket, the next day. Sometimes it was the only way you could sleep. 

 

You spotted a familiar green shirt lying on his bed and smiled. It was the one he’d worn just the other day, when the two of you had built a bonfire and stayed up way too late. Even after Sam and Cas had gone to bed, the two of you sat there under a clear, starry sky, perfecting your S’more technique, and it had taken every bit of willpower you possessed not to lean in and lick a spot of melted chocolate from the curve of his lower lip. 

 

Sure enough, the flannel still smelled like woodsmoke. You sat on the bed and held it for a moment, feeling silly and pathetic for how comforting it was. His absence felt like an anvil on your chest, sometimes. 

 

You wrapped yourself in his shirt and curled up on top of the blankets, burying your face in the pillow for one long inhale of smoke and cologne. It was strong enough that you could almost pretend he was here with you. You looked around, taking in his room, the view he must see when he woke up every morning. Right at eye level was a framed photo of the four of you. You couldn’t help but think that you looked at home,  _ right  _ somehow, tucked under Dean’s arm like that. 

 

You knew you should go back to your room, curl up with the shirt hidden under your pillow, as always, but it was too tempting.  _ Just a minute _ , you thought. 

 

Just one minute. 

 

It was a simple, stupid dream, but the moment you realized it was a dream, you fought to stay asleep. It felt too fucking good to have Dean holding you like that, kissing your neck, even if you hated your subconscious a little for giving in to this girly fantasy. You weren’t ready to go back to reality. 

 

You blinked back sleep. It was such a vivid dream, you would swear you could still smell him. 

 

Oh, _ fuck _ . 

 

Just as you realized where you were, you heard a hissed whisper from the open ( _ shit _ ) door: “I swear I’ve never met anybody as emotionally stunted as the two of you.” 

 

That would be Sam. Panic about being discovered here battled with your curiosity, and curiosity won; you held your breath and listened, but couldn’t make out the words, just the low rumble of Dean’s voice.

 

Sam was louder, though: “It’s never going to be the right time. You’ve been saying that for… how long now?” 

 

“It’s always true,” you heard Dean grumble. 

 

“Look at her, Dean. She’s in there sleeping in your bed, wrapped in your fucking shirt. You really think she’d say no?” 

 

Oh, god, that was mortifying. You squeezed your eyes shut against the hot tears threatening to well up, and your mind raced, searching and searching for some fucking excuse as to what you were doing in Dean’s bed and coming up totally blank. 

 

You heard a whisper of fabric and a careful footstep. When you cracked one eye open, Dean was leaning against the door, looking at you with a softness that made your heart race. You opened your eyes the rest of the way, reluctantly, and your mouth formed the words before you could think better of it: “I missed you.” 

 

He smiled, wide and gorgeous, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I missed you too,” he said, and when you started to sit up, he shook his head. “No, don’t, it’s still early. Just… stay.” 

 

Before you could process what was happening, he was crawling into bed next to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. 

 

“You sure?” you asked, in a small voice, but he was already cuddling closer, spooning up behind you. You fit together just as well as you’d always imagined. 

 

He was quiet. The slow even rhythm of his breathing almost lulled you back to sleep, even though part of you was determined to just stay awake and try to memorize this moment. 

 

“Can I ask you something?” he whispered. “For the record, if you say no, Sam owes me a lot of money… but I kinda hope you don’t say no.” 

 

“Shoot,” you mumbled, through a yawn. 

 

“Will you go out with me? Like. On a date?” he said, all in a rush. His breath tickled the back of your neck. 

 

Your smile was threatening to split your face open, but you couldn’t resist teasing. “Aren’t you supposed to ask me out before we sleep together?” 

 

“Probably before we move in together, too, yeah,” he agreed. His voice was shaky. “That would be traditional.” 

 

“Never been big on tradition.” 

 

He laughed, and you felt the vibration of his chest against your back. “Yeah, I guess not.” 

 

“Tonight?” 

 

“Yeah. Nap first. Then… then I’m going to take you out.” 

 

“Sounds like a plan. Sweet dreams, Dean.” 

 

“Sweet dreams.” 


End file.
